


Feel Something

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 10, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel sighs into Crowley’s belly. “I believe in the Winchesters,” he says, heavy arm around Crowley's waist.</p>
<p>Crowley snorts. “You, angel, know how to ruin a good mood.”</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place after Episode 10.23.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Something

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this Tumblr ask box prompt:
> 
> _Crowstiel - outdoors (Cas has been keeping an eye on Crowley, after the finale, because he's concerned about what Rowena might do. Much like back in S5, Crowley is perfectly aware of the prettiest angel in heaven stalking him, so he lures him into a picnic in a park.)_
> 
> This didn't turn out quite like that. But it does involve sex outdoors, huzzah ^_^ Thanks for the prompt, anon!

“You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

On a different day, in a different mood, these words might make them come to blows. Angel blade to angel blade, dark and light colliding as it always has, and always will.

But today is not most days. Today is sunshine after a storm. There is a dewy scent to the air. Tall grasses shift under a cloudless sky. 

Castiel scratches lazily through Crowley's beard. His glazed eyes blink up into the daylight. Blood has dried in tear streaks, outlining his cheeks. The angel’s head rests in the demon’s lap.

Crowley permits the hand on his face, even tilts his head to enjoy it. He looks out over this space. A lone tree. Distant mountains. 

It is quiet here, untouched by whatever idiocy those denim-wrapped nightmares released on the world this time. It is untouched, too, by the final heaves of his mother’s spell. Vomited blood. Whimpers. The angel clawing at his own arms and face.

Those self-inflicted wounds have sealed, vanishing in a whisper of blue light. Crowley, too, has healed. But demon repair is more violent. Blood devours itself, scabbed over with new flesh.

Crowley is still sore, but he has no intention of admitting it. Instead he squints up at the sky. “Your pets ruined the world again.”

Castiel sighs. He turns his head, cheek to Crowley’s thighs. “Did we succeed? Is Dean free of the Mark?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Yes. And the world is a mess, which you are conveniently ignoring.”

“How are we alive?”

“I’m smarter than you think,” Crowley remarks with a snort. “And you are incapable of doing anything right. Dying included.”

Castiel’s hand moves from Crowley's jaw to his chest, his fingertips glowing gently. Crowley’s back straightens. Deep-rooted aches wash away, calmed by the caress of Heaven’s grace. 

“I hurt you,” Castiel says.

Crowley scowls and bats his hand away. “I’m not the one who can’t sit up. Idiot.”

Castiel looks at him. “Does this mean I owe you again?”

Crowley huffs. He glares at the single tree in the distance. Leafless. A dead, mangled thing. “I don’t know what it means,” he mutters.

Castiel tilts his head, nuzzling the crotch of Crowley’s pants. His lips part just enough to curl around the zipper.

“Did you not hear me when I said the world is screwed?”

“The boys are alive,” Castiel says. “I feel them.” He speaks against Crowley’s pants, a kiss pressed to the seam.

Crowley grumbles his disapproval. But he opens his legs, a finger tracing the angel’s cheek. “You are useless,” he grouses.

“Yes.” Castiel’s mouth opens wider, covering the shape growing under Crowley’s slacks.

Crowley rolls his eyes again. He rubs his knuckles through Castiel’s hair. “Not here,” he says.

“Yes.” Castiel’s lips part to accommodate the product of his efforts. His cheeks sink in as his eyes close.

Crowley curses, and spreads his legs further. The angel’s head balances perilously on one thigh.

Until Castiel turns on his stomach, blasted thing. His mouth lingers around the tented bulge in Crowley’s pants. He sucks hard, tongue a heavy nudge up the seam.

“World. Ruined,” Crowley grits. “Did that spell fry your noodle?”

“It’s a perfectly good noodle,” Castiel assures him. He sets his head on Crowley’s hip and drags his thumb up the wet center of his crotch. “You saved my life,” he says. The words are far too grave for the situation, murmured between the King of Hell’s legs.

“You’re a mess,” Crowley mutters. He scrapes dried blood from under Castiel’s eye.

Castiel smiles up at him. Then, he shoves. Hard.

Crowley hisses when he hits his back. He hisses for different reasons when the angel unzips his pants. His cock jumps free, blushed red and eager. Its pink tip matches Castiel's tongue, which flicks with interest over his lips.

Castiel’s eyes glint. He lowers his head, sucking Crowley down with a hum.

Crowley chokes out an indignant breath. “Castiel-”

“I owe you, don’t I?” A quirk of parted lips, hovering over a wet cock. “King.” Crowley groans, just from this. The angel is playing dirty.

He is the King of Hell, why is _he_ the responsible one here? There is a cloud of primordial darkness hovering over this world. His wicked bitch-mother is in parts unknown. And the Winchesters are causing their usual havoc. 

These issues are bloody important. They don't have time for this!

“King,” Castiel repeats. He nuzzles Crowley’s cock, cheek rubbed against his shaft. His face comes away wet with his own saliva. Hooded, dark eyes stare up at Crowley.

“Christ,” Crowley breathes, tactful as ever.

He expects admonishment for blasphemy, at the very least. But Castiel accepts the curse without complaint. He flicks Crowley’s cock head with his tongue. Then, he goes straight down, Crowley’s shaft disappearing behind wet lips.

Castiel meets his eyes with an owlish blink. As he rises, he sighs, tongue dabbed flat over Crowley’s slit. The tip is given a swirl behind a drowsy smile. “Am I still useless?” Castiel murmurs. He asks this because he is terrible. More devil than any creature of Lucifer’s design.

Castiel lowers his head before Crowley can respond. A chuckle rumbles in his throat, static electricity up Crowley’s shaft.

Crowley grunts. He exchanges fists full of grass for Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel’s hair rubs his belly as he pulls Crowley deep.

He holds Crowley here, in the tightness of his throat. His tongue strokes heavy on the underside of Crowley’s cock. From this angle, Crowley can see the hand Castiel has between his own legs. The angel gives himself a hearty squeeze.

Crowley scrapes more of the blood from beneath Castiel’s eyes. Little pink smudge marks are left behind.

Castiel smirks - yes, he manages this, even with his mouth full like a damned whore. Crowley hears the faint jingle of a zipper. Castiel draw himself from his pants. His hips twitch eagerly above the grass.

Crowley’s own jump towards the mouth willingly impaled on his cock. The added pressure draws an amused hum.

“You, pet, cannot prioritize for shit.” But Crowley’s complaint is less urgent than before.

Yes, the world is ending. Again. But this is a fabulous blow job. And Crowley _did_ just almost die at the hands of this blasted thing.

Castiel’s rise and fall is too easy, too smooth. He bobs seamlessly, calm exhales leaving goosebumps in their wake. Funny, Crowley thought himself incapable of them.

Crowley palms the back of his head, fingers curled against his scalp. Castiel seems to like this pressure, he groans to show his appreciation.

Crowley sucks in a breath. As good as his kitten sounds in heat, the noise feels even better. Like a pulse shivering down the length of his shaft. 

Castiel’s eyes close. Good angel, focused entirely on his mission.

What a fabulous king Crowley is. He saved his old partner and played an vital role in curing little Squirrel. (No thanks to that moron moose-brother of his.) Now, his pretty bird is worshiping his cock. Palming himself all the while, pleasure warm on his cheeks. 

Look at the mighty Castiel. God's favorite Castiel. So enticed by Crowley’s dick that he has to touch himself.

Blast the bloody skies, Crowley loves him.

This feeling never fails to cut Crowley down to size. He hates to even think the word. 

But despising the emotion does not stop its appearance, unbidden and unwelcomed. Love does not work in his world. The past four hundred years have taught him this much.

He stares down at Castiel, devouring him so dutifully. Crowley and his disgraced bird, fucking under a cloudless sky. Ridiculous. Castiel’s eyes are still shadowed by blood streaks, specks of copper on his lips and chin. His clothes are stained red and torn. 

Castiel's nose grazes Crowley’s stomach. “Cas-” Crowley blurts his name like he is falling, mid-trip. He clutches Castiel’s hair for balance.

Castiel purrs around him, evil thing. The rumble licks nerves that are already on edge.

Crowley comes, damn it all. His curses life, death, and everything in between. Blearily, he watches Castiel's brow furrow. Watches him pinch his lovely cheeks in and swallow what he's given. His retreating pink lips leave Crowley's cock gleaming wet.

Castiel’s body spasms above him, with a grunt of his own pleasure. He is glassy eyed like a drunk. Castiel gasps, open mouthed, over Crowley’s cock.

After a moment of recovery, Castiel nods his head back. His lips move to the sides of Crowley’s softening arousal, slick from his own saliva. His dripping hand is wiped on the grass.

Crowley stares at him. “What in the-”

“I needed to feel something,” Castiel rasps. His voice is strained from his throat's overuse. Fetching, this.

Crowley’s kneads the back of his neck. He didn't expect an answer so honest. “Do you now?”

Castiel sets his head on Crowley’s stomach. “Yes,” he replies.

Crowley rolls his eyes, but he sits up higher. His mouth touches Castiel’s hair. “Good,” he murmurs. “But the world is still fucked.”

Castiel sighs into Crowley’s belly. “I believe in the Winchesters,” he says, heavy arm around Crowley's waist.

Crowley snorts. “You, angel, know how to ruin a good mood.”

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com).


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